


Stop Your Fear

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, HEA, In Captivity Together, M/M, Mutual Caretaking, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen: Unaffected Character Sacrifices Themselves for the Sake of Affected Character, Something Made Them Do It, forced to perform sexually, heartfelt declarations, recovery & aftercare, smutswap19, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-23 08:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Imprisoned by space pirates, Finn and Poe get to know each other better. When Finn gets whammied with sex pollen, Poe helps him out, not entirely unselfishly.Afterward, they try to clean up the mess and take care of each other.please note:sex is entirely consensual, but within a compromised situation. Dub-con, not non con.





	Stop Your Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



> Outruntheavalanche, I loved your Finn/Poe prompts so much and this story took hold of me with teeth and urgency. I hope it works for you.
> 
> Huge thanks to K. and, especially, L., for everything.
> 
> Title and epigraph from Morcheeba, "Fear and Love".

####  _Fear can stop you loving  
Love can stop your fear_.

  
They like to argue, they really do. They parry and feint, take positions then abandon them; it's how Finn thinks aloud, how Poe learns the expanse of thoughts. Sometimes they do it just to pass the time, to get the other one riled up and blustering, just to see if they can.

They're arguing over something stupid when they get snatched. Stuck in port, one mission successful but their return to base held up by bureaucracy and poor avionics, they were both antsy. Poe stole Finn's last dumpling, or Finn wanted to do another round of preflight checks and Poe didn't feel _trusted_ , who knows what the topic was. They were passionate about it, that's all that's important, and then Poe got blast-burnt and Finn knocked out with chloro-vape. When they wake, deep in the hold of a truly derelict ship, their differences are forgotten.

Finn wakes first, takes the measure of their cell first by eye, then paces it off. When Poe stirs, shouting a curse and flailing, Finn is there to catch him from slipping off the narrow bench.

"Finn!" Poe is drenched in sweat as he clutches at Finn's jersey. His own is half-burned away by the blast-sparker. Finn has to move him carefully to avoid contact.

"Here," Finn replies and gets them both situated back on the bench. "Not quite sure where 'here' is, though."

Poe closes his eyes and listens to the ship noise. "Old hyperdrive, not jumping right now." He opens his eyes. "Cargo? Scavengers?"

Finn shakes his head. "Since when do scavengers grab two sentients in broad daylight?"

Poe grins for a second. "Technically, that was broad moonlight!" He stops smiling when Finn glares at him, but adds, "Well, it was."

"Pirates," Finn says over Poe's mumbled protest. "Doing a side of slaving?"

"You don't know, maybe they're..." Poe's on his feet, shuffling a little as he favors the uninjured side. "Lonely and socially awkward?"

"Your burn looks bad," Finn tells him. The wound is red-ringed; at the center, skin is crisping off, then sticking in place.

"And yet it feels fantastic! Downright _sizzling_ , even."

"Poe."

"Yeah?" He leans against the bars and scrubs his hand through his hair. "Just trying to keep the mood up."

"You don't have to," Finn tells him. He sounds serious, even grave, sitting forward with his hands clasped between his knees. Poe starts to argue but stops when Finn continues, "It's a waste of limited energy. We need to focus."

"I can do both," Poe points out.

Finn stares at him, implacable and stern (and yet really handsome, Poe's stupid mind cannot help observing), until Poe raises both palms in surrender.

"First job is, we figure out where we are and who has us," Finn says. "Then how we escape."

"Oh, sweet, is that all?" Poe sinks down on the bench next to him. "You're way ahead of me."

*

The miraculous thing is that their cover identities hold. Having scanned their chips while they were out, and now their retinas, the pirates believe that Finn and Poe are, in fact, a freelance stevedore and slumming-gap-year scion of the Calrissian dynasty.

"And you said we used Calrissian connections too often," Poe mutters to Finn over their next meal. The hunched little weed of a kid who served it to them called Finn "filthy Calrissian", which seemed to confirm the persistence of their cover.

"I still say we do," Finn says. "I think I was targeted precisely because of who they think I am."

Poe tosses down the swill, wincing, before he replies. "We don't know that."

"You're all banged up," Finn points out. "They handled you really rough—"

Poe starts to smirk and put in, "I like it a little rough."

"— and, yeah, joke about that, but me? They handled me much more carefully."

"Maybe I just fought back harder," Poe says, not believing a word of it. "Maybe they considered me the bigger threat."

For the first time since they landed in this cell, Finn laughs, a big, genuine, booming laugh.

"That wasn't a joke," Poe pretends to grumble, "but I can see how it sounded like one."

"No offense," Finn says, trying to compose himself. "You're formidable! Just..."

"Next to you, not so much," Poe finishes for him. "I get that. Youth and beauty win out over grizzled galaxy-weary experience."

They long ago finished the meal, but they're still sitting on the floor, hunched together. Finn smiles again, studying Poe's face, but he doesn't say anything. 

He wants to, but of all the terrible times he's undergone, this has to count as one of the worst. Maybe not in terms of imminent grisly death, but _certainly_ when it comes to being appropriate for heartfelt confessions.

As for Poe, he just takes in the gentleness of Finn's smile and tries to forget what they're up against (he has never, not once, seen the point of fully estimating threats arrayed against him: that way lies paralyzing depression). He trusts that whatever thoughts are passing like spring water through Finn's mind, he'll share them when he's ready.

He's never had any trouble trusting Finn.

*

After several workshifts, they have a better sense of what they're dealing with. This is definitely a salvage and pirate scow; the number aboard is probably around fifteen sentients.

"It could be higher," Finn has to point out and Poe nods quickly.

"It could be a hundred for all we know. But we've seen several of the same faces on the same watches, so let's call it fifteen."

"If it's more, we're fucked," Finn says.

Poe keeps nodding. "Also true. We might already be fucked, who knows? Let's proceed on the assumption that we can, uh. Enjoy the fucking? Get some lube? You know what I mean."

Finn swallows and works his hands together. "Yeah."

Poe kicks him lightly. "Just saying."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Poe sits back on his heels. He'd been trying to draw a map of the passages he has been taken through. But the floor is so filthy, he keeps getting lost in his own lines.

Finn's blanking again.

"Tell me this," Poe says, quietly enough that Finn looks up, startled. "If you were alone in this, what would you do?"

Finn sort of laughs at that, then swallows again, a couple times. "Freak out and try to run away."

"Bantha-shit."

Looking out into the passage, Finn squints, thinking. "It's true, though. That is what I tend to do."

"Since when?" Poe tips over onto his side, then folds his legs and sits back up. "This is, and I'm not shitting you, exceptionally novel news to me."

Finn looks back at him; his expression is soft, unformed. Not quite legible, even as Poe regards him evenly and smiles a little.

"It's true. The _Finalizer_ , Jakku, Maz's place, the _Raddus_. Even Crait."

Poe winces and rubs his mouth. The sour panic and leaden helplessness of watching Finn point his speeder right at the cannon returns, like it never drained away. 

"Crait was bad, yeah," Poe says eventually. He couldn't stop Finn then; he screamed himself hoarse but didn't manage to say anything that mattered.

"I don't know who you think I am," Finn says, very slowly, pausing a lot. "But I'm not him."

"A brave and decent man? You're not?" Poe shakes his head. " _Now_ you tell me?"

"It's..."

"No, man, shut up." Poe pushes up onto one knee, then flails a bit until he can get all the way upright and join Finn on the narrow bench. "I get to think what I want about you, okay? I'm not the brightest light in the sky, but I do okay with the brain I've got and I know what you are."

"Poe," Finn says, then stops. He shakes his head. "It's not important, it really isn't."

"It is to me!" Poe's voice comes very loud, almost echoing in the cell. He grabs for Finn's shoulder. "We've all got doubts, buddy. And things we don't particularly... _like_ about ourselves. But—"

"Hate," Finn says. "Things we hate about ourselves."

Poe nods a few times, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. "Those, too, yeah." He nudges Finn's side and waits until, finally, Finn turns to look at him. "What matters is what we do, that's all I wanted to say. And I've seen what you do."

Finn's mouth twists as he scowls. He wants to argue. He _needs_ to argue. But he's caught there by Poe's fond gaze, the warmth of his regard, the closeness of his body.

"Let's agree to disagree for now?" Poe says, and slides off the bench. "Get back to the op analysis."

"Sounds good," Finn says. Finding himself unexpectedly hoarse, he coughs into his hand. "Pretty sure there's a third deck, by the way."

Poe exhales in a disappointed hiss. "Damn. How big _is_ this piece of crap?"

The ship hiccups and shakes then, the lights dimming into blue, before the main power kicks back in. Everything returns to normal, murky, deafening normal. Finn kicks Poe's knee. "Don't insult the ship. Careful, man."

"I felt bad as soon as I did," Poe admits. "Poor lady. Not her fault she's run by—" He raises his voice, just in case anyone's passing by. "FUCKING ASSHOLES."

*

Poe has always thought highly of Finn. Finn assumes that one would, of course, highly esteem the random stranger who happened to save your life.

But as they've spent more time together, Finn has had to reckon with the fact that Poe's opinion of him is more than that. Deeper, truer, everything.

The principle works in reverse, too; Poe is the first friend Finn ever made, so Finn thinks he's pretty great. Maybe it's just gratitude and unfamiliar affection that make Finn want more from Poe, touches that linger and words that melt into kisses.

*

Finn goes blank more frequently. It creeps Poe out, seeing him draw in on himself, become all physical presence, no actual _Finn_.

"Hey, man. Hey." Poe snaps his fingers in front of Finn's face. "You in there?"

"I'm right here," Finn says. He rolls his head back and forth, stretching out his neck. "What's going on?"

"You just..." Poe shrugs. "Never mind."

Who knows what time it is, but the ship is a little quieter than usual, so call it "night". The shouts and stamping feet of a raucous card game occasionally filter through the usual ambient roar. They haven't been fed in hours, but a few members of the crew have wandered past. Bored, they like to toss lit trash through the bars, or lean against the bulkhead, thumbs or tentacles in their pockets while they come up with insults for the prisoners.

Finn spent the main shift alone here in the cell, while Poe was put to work in the salvage tanks. That's dirty, exhausting work, particularly when no rebreather or mask is provided; he has to dive with only a ratty net.

"Sorry," Finn had mouthed when they'd hustled Poe out of the cell, but what did he have to apologize for? Their covers have held. It stands to reason that a prize like a Calrissian would be treated better than whatever port scum Poe is supposed to be. Maybe next mission, Poe will get to be the luxuriously-dressed rich guy.

*

They trade info when they can. 

"I've seen six regulars," Finn says, counting them off on his fingers. "And four others, but those, only once or twice. They all answer to the big red lizard."

Poe nods. "Pinky."

"What?"

"I call him Pinky."

The pirate in question must outweigh Poe and Finn's combined weight by a good 25%, though he's only a few centimeters taller. He's so broad that he can't pass through most passages with someone at his side. His skin is heavily scaled and scarlet red, his head, topped with elaborate scutes that might as well be horns.

"All right," Finn says and tries the nickname out. "Pinky."

"Pinky's the main man," Poe continues. "Maybe he answers to someone else, maybe not."

"That's helpful," Finn says.

"Just laying it all out," Poe replies, shrugging. "If I didn't, you'd correct me, right?"

Finn winces slightly. "I would, yeah."

Grinning, Poe bounces a little in his crouch. "See? I'm saving us time. _Efficient_!"

"What species is he?" Finn asks. "Bossman. Pinky. If we knew, that'd help with immobilization options."

Poe acts theatrically outraged. "Immobilization? Man, I want to _kick his ass_ and grind him down! None of this polite 'immobilization' shit."

Though he's probably joking, Poe's vehemence catches at Finn's thoughts, snags and pokes there. Maybe the anger is due, not just to Poe's characteristic hatred of bullies and bosses, but to direct experience.

"He rough you up?" Finn asks carefully, keeping his tone neutral.

"Who?" Poe frowns in confusion. No doubt his thoughts are already parsecs away.

"Pinky."

Poe's expression clears and sharpens. "Sure. They all do."

"Poe—"

He shrugs. "It's nothing I can't handle."

*

There isn't enough information and observation for them to analyze all the time. In the dark, they drift around sleep and talk aimlessly.

Poe tells Finn about how his father used to take him on empty-bag hikes into the Yavin forest. 

"Can't bring anything, see," Poe says. "You have to take care of yourself out there."

Finn's first thought is one of panic. That sounds like Jakku, but worse. In a desert, you can see threats coming. In the woods, you don't.

After a bit, Finn says, "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why the empty bag?" Maybe Poe's father is like those pinched-face old Imperials, the ones who'd sit in reviewing stands to watch trooper maneuvers. People who never let go of their military rigidity. "Your father was a Pathfinder, right?"

"Yeah, with Solo," Poe says, then, as he always does when Solo comes up, adds, "Sorry."

"Thanks," Finn says. "But why?"

"Why sorry or why empty bag?"

Finn presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. It's dark in here, but he needs it darker. "Your choice."

"Why the hike," Poe says. He speaks in bursts; Finn has long had the feeling that Poe often thinks _by_ speaking. That's why their arguments are so much fun, as well as why partnering with him can be as frustrating as it is thrilling. "Self-sufficiency and...the opposite of self-sufficiency. You learn how to take care of yourself but also how it's not just you. How you are part of something much bigger and more complicated. How small you are."

"Can think of another way to learn that," Finn says. "Be a storm trooper."

Poe coughs and shifts.

"I know it's the opposite," Finn explains. He wets his lips. "One is self-annihilation, the other is self-belonging. Celebration?"

"Something like that, I guess."

"Yeah."

Poe reaches in the dark to knock his knuckles against Finn's arm. "Yeah."

Neither of them knows what they're agreeing about, but they both nod.

*

When Poe's dragged back to the cell after another shift in the tanks, he can barely stand. They hosed him off, not because he deserves to be clean, but because he stinks.

The first thing Finn says when they're alone is, "We have to get out of here."

Poe throws up his hands. "I know! That's the whole point."

"No, I mean—" Finn paces the length of the cell, and then back again, pounding his fist on his thigh. "They're headed for Gobelu."

Poe cocks his head. "The pleasure barge from _The Erotic Adventures of Poggle the Lesser_?"

"What? No. The free market for sentients."

"Oh," Poe says. "Oh, _shit_." He slides down the bars to sit on the floor, knees up to his chest. "That's not great."

"You don't understand," Finn says. He's speaking quickly, tensely, his eyes darting. Poe hauls himself back to his feet and guides Finn to the bench. "I've met people coming out of there. They're messed up, Poe. They're—" He looks around, as if an example might be found in their cell. His shoulders slump. "Fucked up."

"All right," Poe says. He thinks about rubbing Finn's back, something he's never really considered doing, with Finn or anyone else. But it seems like a good idea. He wouldn't know where to start, though, so he keeps his hands in his lap. "All right, but -"

"Blood Cyclone," Finn says. His posture has straightened and his chin is tipped up as he stares out into the passage. "You've heard of them."

"They're more like a monster story—" Blood Cyclone, like other special forces units in the Empire and First Order, is as legendary as many criminal syndicates. Word has it that they're the salted-earth crew, the ones sent in to destroy entire locales by every possible means. Genocidaires and ecoslaughterers.

"They're real, and I've seen them in action, and they're bought on Gobelu."

"Okay, but —"

Finn stands, then, uncertain for a moment, sits back down. He still isn't making eye contact. Poe has to wonder where he goes when he gets like this. Is he wearing the white armor again?

"I can't let you end up there," Finn says.

"If I had to get bought," Poe says, "I'd prefer going to a Hutt, you know? They appreciate the value of a good entertainer." He's back on his feet, anxious, heartbeat too fast for comfort. "Little song, little dance."

He shimmies his hips, does a quick graceful softshoe, but before he can start to croon, Finn says, "You can't go to Gobelu."

"I'm not gonna _break_ any time soon," Poe tells him. He leans against the bars, back to Finn, and now he can feel his pulse prickling in every pore.

"I didn't say —"

"Already did, right? But I'm still here."

It's dark in here, enough that you have to squint to really make out any detail outside arm's reach. Finn doesn't squint, however; he can picture all too clearly the angle to Poe's shoulders, the stubborn jut to his hip and set to his jaw. His tone tells Finn all of that, and more.

He's talking about Kylo Ren, Finn knows. He's not sure if Poe has told anyone else — probably Rey, who'd understand better — about what Ren did to him. That question, however, isn't important. Poe could have aired a dramatic reenactment of the torture for all and sundry. What matters, Finn knows, is that Kylo broke into Poe, took what he wanted, and scattered the rest to the winds.

"You are," Finn says and swallows. "You are still here."

Poe glances over his shoulder, wearing a ghost of a grin. "Too stupid to know when to let up."

"That, too," Finn says, because he wants to smile and he wants Poe to turn back and face him. He wants too much.

*

On the way to the tanks next shift, Poe elbows the ugly kid and varies his pace until both guards are even more fed up with his antics than usual. He keeps up a stream of chatty nonsense, telling them tall tales about his fake past, asking them inane questions about their hopes and dreams.

"As pirates, sure, but what about as _souls_? What's a good future for you? Kids and a pet mini-bantha? Maybe a polyamorous fishing clan? Talk to me, guys. Let me get to know the _real_ you."

Weedy kid jabs him with a sheathed knife (his fondest possession, Poe's pretty sure) while the very pale human male jerks him ahead by the elbow.

They're all turned around in the chamber that Poe thinks of as a hub; several passages radiate off it like spokes. The way to the tanks is straight ahead, but the male pulls him to the right. This passage is identical, ending in a half-height ladder upwards. 

As they realize their mistake and yell at each other about it, Poe looks up the ladder.

"And that's when I said, 'Jackpot, suckers!' and they clocked me," he tells Finn later.

"You did not," Finn replies. "But what did you see?"

"Scout pod," Poe says, grinning so widely that it could be his birthday _and_ the anniversary of the Battle of Yavin. "Little, crappy thing, sub-hyperdrive. But it's a ship and that's what counts."

Finn's mouth forms the word _ship_ without speaking. Poe watches, mesmerized: two of his favorite things, together at last.

He's still grinning like a child.

"— this," Finn says.

Poe swallows, trying to set aside delighted thoughts about Finn's mouth and ships. "Sorry, what? Give me that again."

"Very promising," Finn says. He gives Poe a curious look but Poe shrugs it off. _What can you do?_ , his gesture says. _Flyboy's kind of dense._

*

They don't sleep much, trading off the bench every few hours or so when they can. More often than not, there's an audience in the passage. Finn gathers from eavesdropping that the trow's hyperdrive is out of order and the crew is growing weary of the delay in finishing out this run.

He can't decide if this discontent is a positive or a negative. No one is anywhere near mutinous; they're just pissy and bored. Luckily for them, they have two prisoners to take it out on. Finn has recorded a holo plea for ransom, and no one hurts him too bad physically, but their loathing of what they think he is gets free rein verbally.

*

 

He's barely closed his eyes when Poe gets kicked awake, then, as he's on his hands and knees trying to stand, someone turns the hose on him. It catches him right in the kidneys, then the gut, until he's on his feet, coughing and spluttering.

"Not that I don't appreciate the bath," he manages to get out, "But what the fuck?"

"Poe, shut up," Finn says.

That's different. He's already out in the passage, held by two of the larger regulars. He's shirtless and sweaty, probably from resisting.

"You okay?" Poe asks.

"Been better," Finn replies. The one on his left pokes him with something and Finn grimaces, twisting around to speak over his shoulder as they hustle him down the passage. "Been worse, too, right?"

"That's right," Poe calls. He shakes the water off his hair and laughs when one of the pirates slips in the puddle on his way to grab Poe. "Watch it, someone made a huge mess in here."

They push him down the passage, shouting at each other. Everyone seems excited, moving with big swaggers and talking loudly; there are more people around than he's ever seen on board. Barefoot and shivering, Poe tries to make out what they're saying, but beyond something in pidgin that's like "big show", he's lost.

When they catch up with Finn and his guards, Poe starts to ask Finn what he thinks is going on. As Finn catches his eye, however, he shakes his head 'no'. Poe nods and keeps mum.

They reach the hub chamber. The middle is cleared, crew gathered around all the walls, some sitting, some standing. Most of the exits have been closed off with cargo crates. The stink of boiled meat, vinegary homebrew, and cheap spice smoke is everywhere. The spice and alcohol go some way toward explaining the excitement.

Pinky emerges from the other side of the chamber, exhaling spice through his narrow slitted nostrils. Ignoring Poe, all but shoving him aside, he makes for Finn. Finn's guards drop their hold. For a dizzying, thrilling moment, Poe imagines that Finn's going to fight Pinky, subdue him quickly with a snapped neck or something equally elegant, save their sorry asses once more.

Finn tenses as Pinky approaches, but keeps his gaze lowered. Pinky shoves him and Finn goes with the motion, stumbling back a few steps before catching himself.

"Stupid Calrissian," Pinky announces, as if he's speaking to the whole crowd, not Finn himself. "Where's your rich kin now? Huh?"

Finn flexes his hands at his sides but keeps his eyes averted. "They're working on it."

"Rich don't know work!" Pinky shouts, to general cheers and hoots.

"Please," Finn says dully. "Give them a little time."

"Bored! No more waiting!" Pinky strikes Finn again. Poe tries to push forward, only to have his guards stomp on his foot and jab an elbow into the burn on his back. "Give us a treat! Big show!"

Finn looks directly at Pinky. "What do you want?"

Pinky doesn't _grin_ — his face isn't built that way — but he does sneer-smirk. "Good show!"

"All right," Finn says slowly.

"Finn!" Poe shouts but Finn's focus doesn't shift.

Pinky charges him, but Finn stays upright; when Pinky grabs Finn's face, it seems for a horrifying moment that he's going to bite him or, worse somehow, _kiss_ him. Poe hears himself shout, realizes his guards have dropped their hold, and the next thing he knows, he's stumbling to catch Finn as Pinky lumbers backward, laughing and wiping his mouth. The crowd is hooting and stamping their feet.

Finn struggles to stand. The lower part of his face is smeared with something viscous and sweet-smelling. He swipes his hand over it and looks curiously at his palm.

"Finn," Poe says. They're close enough to speak lowly, despite the noise of the crowd. "Hey, buddy, what happened?"

Finn blinks several times. His mouth is open; he's panting shallowly. "Get away from me."

"Good show! Big fun!" The shouts reverberate around the chamber. Someone shoves Poe from behind; someone else tosses a lit twist of fabric at them, then another. 

"Finn," Poe says. This is worse than Finn going blank, not that he can articulate the difference. "What's up?"

Finn is bent over, hands grasping his knees, as he struggles to catch his breath. Even in the murky light of this chamber, on this shitty scow in the depths of who-knows-where, he looks magnificent. His ribs move like bellows; his face, even contorted in a grimace, is beautiful.

"Man, what's wrong?" Poe comes closer. The crowd quiets a little, but the hush is tense, like a thread pulled in fabric, drawing everything close.

"Get away," Finn says, "Please."

"Not happening," Poe tells him. He bends over, touches Finn's shoulder, peers at him. "Come on, it's—"

Finn shoves him away and the crowd roars in approval. Poe lands on his ass, banging one elbow and skating on his back, opening back up his burn.

"Fuck, man!" Poe stays down, but keeps yelling. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Finn squeezes shut his eyes. The sweat's stinging and he can't catch his breath and there's an oil fire running rampant and glowing brighter, hotter, beneath his skin.

"Fight! Fight! Fuck!" The crowd bangs the walls and shoves each other.

Whatever Pinky licked over him is working its way through his system, making Finn shudder and quake. His thoughts are no longer his own; the fire inside him needs and demands, no matter what he thinks.

Poe's touch ignited more. Poe's touch brought everything Finn has been trying to forget, to keep suspended for a better time, back to the forefront. Poe's touch promised more of Poe, everything, offered him up to be devoured.

"Poe," Finn says desperately. "Please. Stop."

Poe stays on his knees, hands up, his voice soft. Whatever surprised anger he felt is gone, replaced with concern and fear that creep through him steadily.

"Finn, it's me. What's going on?"

_Fight. Fuck. Fight or fuck._

Finn's gaze flickers toward the crowd and he scowls, then tugs roughly at his crotch. "Just get away."

"Can't do that," Poe tells him. He shuffles forward a little. "You need to tell me what's wrong."

"Poe," Finn says, with a bitterness that Poe's never heard in his voice. "Stay where you are."

One of their regulars, a paunchy Abednedonian, shoves Poe forward; when he lands on his palms, the regular kicks him again, sending him sliding toward Finn.

"Fuck him," the Abednedonian growls and his friends take up the chant.

From the floor, on hands and knees, Poe thinks Finn looks about seventy meters tall. 

"They dosed you," he says when Finn yanks at the fly of his trousers again. His hand describes the erection within; Poe shivers at the thought and his own dick twitches to attention. "Think they dosed you. Spice?"

Finn shakes his head. "Get away from me, _please_."

The crowd moves and hoots like an animal, or the jungle back home, a complex of voices and demands, spit and spice smoke.

"Nope," Poe says, easing back onto his knees. "Whatever they gave you, spice or sour rind, it's not getting out of your system without some help."

Sour rind is one of those aphrodisiacs hardly anyone ever gets to try, but which somehow maintains legendary status. It's said, so far as Poe recalls, that rind doesn't just make a person horny and willing. It removes all inhibitions and restraints.

He can't pretend that the thought of Finn, unleashed and craving, isn't something to treasure. That's his issue, that's always been his downfall; "Dameron's all heart, gut, and dick, not so much gray matter," an admiral wrote on his graduation from the academy. _That_ description followed him all the way to the Resistance.

Finn's still clutching his dick. His thumb works rapid circles around the head now. Occasionally he flicks it with his nail, hisses, and does it again. The friction from his trousers adds to the buzz and heat of the fire inside him. Everything hurts, nothing fits, and he _needs_ , so badly, to find relief.

And there's Poe, sitting back on his heels, looking up at him. Bright eyes under heavy lids, a smirk twisting through his beard, damp hair curling up off his skull. Poe blinks a couple times, licks his lips, and nods, as if he's come to a decision.

"No," Finn says, backing up, awkward and graceless. "Poe, don't—"

"I'm going to help you," Poe says, calm and friendly as ever. "It's going to be okay."

"No," Finn says, and again, then a third time.

"I want to," Poe says, and one of his eyebrows jumps up. He smiles gently. "Don't you?"

Finn groans and tries to twist away; at least if he turns his back, he won't _see_ Poe, won't see the red of his lips and the riot of his hair, won't keep thinking about soft skin and rough beard, slick mouth and strong hands.

When Finn staggers back into the crowd, it pushes him back to the center, toward Poe. 

"Not like this," Finn says. So close now; he thinks he can smell Poe, his sweat and the heat off his skin. "Not like _this_."

"Not ideal, nope." Poe's standing up, reaching for Finn's hand, each movement slow and precise. It's odd to think of him in those terms — even through the hot smoke clogging Finn's thoughts — but of course, with all his bravado and recklessness, at heart he must be precise, must hit the target and thread his escape.

Finn groans again when Poe cups his face in his hands and stares at him. "Please."

Poe's half-smile leaps, then fades, leaving him looking calm and curious. "Please, what?"

His thumbs stroke sweat off Finn's cheekbones. His breath smells sweet. They're chest to chest and Finn's erection jumps every time Poe exhales.

"Poe—"

"It's not like I haven't wanted to do this," Poe continues, like this is a regular conversation, like they're just hanging out under an X-Wing of an afternoon, chewing the fat and shooting the shit. "You know that, right?"

Finn shakes his head and tries, but fails, to let go of his dick. 

"Did you?" Poe asks. His gaze drops, heavy lashes resting on his cheeks. In the tumult of the room — _Fuck fuck fuck_ — he manages to sound almost shy.

Those were thoughts, Finn always knew, for later. For a better time, should it ever arrive, when they weren't scrambling for their lives and trying like hell to take down the Order. Those were thoughts that were little more than daydreams.

"Sometimes I felt like you did," Poe goes on, his thumbs moving down to stroke Finn's mouth. "But I'm kind of full of myself that way."

"Yes," Finn breathes and when his lips part, he closes them back around Poe's thumbs, sucks at them until they curl over his bottom teeth. He kicks Poe's feet apart, walks him back, gets his free hand around Poe's back and up into the magnificent mess of his hair. "Fuck, yes."

Poe's grinning at him, moving his hips against Finn's. "Good."

"I can't help myself," Finn tells him. His voice is strangled. Everything he has, air and blood and will, is in his cock. "I don't know what's wrong."

"Go with it," Poe tells him. He's flattened against a jutting pipe now, Finn pressed against him from clavicle to kneecap. "Whatever you want, do it."

"Poe, don't say—"

Poe tilts his head. His hips keep grinding against Finn's. "I am. I do." He swallows, bites his lips and curls his hands around Finn's neck, then his shoulders. "So this isn't the ideal first time. What, you think I can't take it rough? That I don't _like_ it hard?"

Finn's groan rips through some of the fire, but all that does is spread it over Poe, make him hungrier, his mouth drier and tongue thicker, desperate to taste Poe. He's thought about being close to Poe like this a thousand times, being _inside_ him (hand, mouth, ass), and yet this also feels unreal, unprecedented.

Poe shudders and works his hips in time with the crowd's chanting. He can smell spice being smoked, hear bets being taken, but that's all as far away as an anesthesia dream. He has Finn against him, filling his vision, panting against him as he kisses and sucks and _bites_ his way down Poe's throat and across his chest. Finn's teeth are sharp; Poe wants to get chewed to ribbons.

"Tell me," Finn says, stopping with teeth just grazing the hollow of Poe's throat. "Tell me what it would've been like."

"What?"

"The first time. Ideal. Not rough." Finn says this even as he's yanking down first his trousers, then Poe's. The crowd cheers and claps faster. Boots ring against metal and duracrete as they stomp. "Tell me. Get me through this."

Poe fights to stay upright, to keep talking. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think clearly. Finn's dick is riding the crease of his hip, and it's swollen and _wet_ , and Poe's dick is racing to catch up. Finn's grunting and shoving him around. They're both sweaty, adhering then tearing free with obscene gulps. His burn hurts, all the bruises and cuts he's gotten sting with sweat, but he's floating around his own skeleton. He's _happy_.

"Want to blow you," Poe tells him when he finally finds the thread of clarity. "Always thought I'd do that first, just get comfortable between your legs. Go to town. Make my throat your new favorite place."

"Fuck." Finn bucks against him, yanks back Poe's head and bites at his mouth. "And?"

"I'm good at it, you know," Poe tells him, almost dreamily. "Love it. Want to suck you off. Want to taste you come, feel it fill me up. Run out my mouth. My nose."

Poe's dick jumps as Finn fucks forward, working his dick between Poe's legs, right under his balls. It's awkward, and Poe tries to tighten his thighs, but his stance is also spread for stability.

"Or sit on your chest, suck you off that way," Poe says, twisting around so his back is to Finn. "That works, too."

Finn's arm tightens around his waist and he works his hips faster, dick riding between Poe's thighs again. It's tight and sticky with sweat, but it's also far, far from what he needs.

"You could eat me out while I did that," Poe says, looking over his shoulder, blinking the sweat from his eyes. It clumps together his lashes. He looks like he's been crying. Finn grunts and kisses him again, fucking his thighs with rapid, ragged thrusts. His kiss is glancing, sharp, and Poe twists more to get more. For a moment, it's perfect: deep and full, the angle just right, the desire brightening to incandescence between them.

"Yeah?"

"Want your mouth all over me, Finn," he says. 

"Bend over," Finn tells him. His voice is not his own. His will is absent; though he doesn't want to admit it, this is part of what he wants, whether or not he would ever have let himself do it. Say it. He's saying it now. "Poe. Give me your ass."

Poe's the one to groan now, heat and electricity racing and twining through him, stopping up his throat and loosening his limbs. He grabs hold of the pipe and shifts to the side, bending over, raising his ass. His trousers are tangled around one knee, the other leg free and bare.

Pinky hoots and the crew takes it up. _Fuck fuck fuck hard._

Poe knows exactly what he looks like. He has no idea how many eyes are watching, but he knows what they see. He's old and hairy and lonely, a slut gone to seed, so full of need that he'll drop his pants and offer his hole to the first good-looking young thing to ask.

No, he thinks. Maybe that's who he has been. Who he feared he was. Not who he is now, not with Finn, despite this ordeal. He's still old and hairy and needy, sure, but for _Finn_. Not just for pleasure and pain and bruises that remember the sting of coming.

He has to take a few breaths before he can look over his shoulder. When he does, Finn is standing there, cock rampant and moving like something in the shallows, aquatic and mysterious. His hands are on Poe's asscheeks, spreading them, thumbs splitting him open. He's looking down, looking at Poe, with an expression that — probably thanks to Poe's shitty vocabulary — can only be called _wonder_.

Poe pushes back and reaches back, too, to take hold of Finn's left wrist.

"Anything," Poe says. "Whatever you need. You've got it."

Hearing that, Finn half-laughs. It's a tortured, terrible sound, but he nods, too, like he appreciates it. He hocks and spits a few times. It hits Poe hot, and then Finn's rubbing it in, around his hole, fast and determined.

"I was going to get more flexible," Poe tells him, "That was the plan. Do some Force-bending, that kind of thing, so when we did this, miraculously, I'd be on my back, knees up at my ears."

Finn looks up, scowl twisting to surprise, then back again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Poe says, squeezing his wrist. "And you'd fuck me for _hours_ , over and over, make me come about seven times until I was dry and shaking and begging for more."

"Fuck," Finn says. His hips jerk of their own accord.

"Do it," Poe says, voice changing again, going harsh and needful, dropping out the dreamy fantasy. "Fuck me open."

"Poe."

"Finn." He drops his hips, raises his ass that little bit more, and lets his head drop forward. "Fuck me or I swear I —"

Someone tosses another lit scrap. It skitters past the periphery of Finn's vision. Its heat glances off the back of one calf. His dick feels twice as big as usual, his lungs, half their correct size. He's magma and granite, flowing need and concrete fear, immobilizing guilt. And now Poe's fucking _swinging_ his hips as he offers himself.

Finn lines himself up and pushes and knows he ought to stop, _must_ stop, let Poe adjust to the stretch. But he doesn't, because he can't, because he has to trust that Poe meant what he said. Has to trust that of the two of them, Poe knows what's happening. Has to trust that _this_ , the heat inside Poe that's hotter than anything burning Finn up, so slick and torqued to crushing pressure, is all right to take. He's taking it, thrusting inside, legs bending, then snapping straight when he bottoms out. He rocks deeper inside, pulls out when someone yells, "Faster!", and lets the head of his cock throb painfully, caught just inside the first ring of Poe's hole.

His fingers skid down Poe's swayed back. Nails scratch up red welts in the sweat, jump over the burn, dig hard into the meat of Poe's hip. Finn thrusts deeper, faster, never finding a rhythm. Each press forward scrapes up more pleasure, brighter and hotter, through him, across each twanging, shrieking nerve. It fuels his need, feeds the fire, does nothing for relief.

He bends over, wrapping his arm around Poe's chest, bringing them close enough to stick together.

"And I'd ride you," Poe's saying, shoving back against the dick filling him halfway to his throat. Finn overfills him, rearranges everything inside Poe, makes room for himself and then gets _bigger_. "Up and down, up and down, until you were laughing and laughing and telling me to get on with it..."

Finn bites Poe's shoulder blade and sucks a kiss there, his hips working wild. He keeps thinking that he must have orgasmed; he feels the clutch and drop off the precipice, but then, half a pulse later, he's still fucking and climbing to a higher point and he hasn't shot. His balls ache as if he already has, several times over.

Poe's dick grazes the side of Finn's arm. He tries to stroke it, _tries_ to be considerate. Maybe it works, because Poe's crying out now, voice breaking and body shaking, and his ass is clenching fast, all but _milking_ Finn's cock, buried to the hilt.

"Finn, Finn, Finn..." Poe keeps saying, voice gone rough and fractured. "C'mon, c'mon."

Yelping, he shoots all over Finn's hand. When Finn unlocks his arm, Poe stumbles and sags. Finn sinks with him, until Poe's on all fours, head bouncing on the littered floor, and Finn's fucking him deeper and smearing Poe's come all over his mouth.

It tingles, tastes like salt and cleaner; Finn sucks all four fingers and holds Poe down by the nape of his neck to cant the angle. It must work, it does _something _, chafes more pleasure out of Poe. He's panting again, harsh and high, pushing back against Finn. Inside, the rings of muscle still grasp and twist as Finn pushes in and in.__

__Finn wants all the way in. He's telling Poe that, he realizes, growling the words. He wants in, up under Poe's skin, into the vault of his ribs, wants to wear Poe like a blanket, fuck him mindless and inside out, keep him just like this always. His own, forever._ _

__Another flaming projectile arches past, this one nearly catching Poe's flailing arm. Finn twists his fingers up in Poe's hair, raising his head, pulling him up to kiss the side of his mouth, his neck, the knob of his shoulder._ _

__"Give me," Finn says into the kiss, less to Poe himself than to his skin and blood and muscle. "All of it."_ _

__Nearby, someone tips over a spice pipe. His companion screeches in complaint, jumping clear. The splash of hot oil from the broken chamber knocks Finn and Poe over onto their sides._ _

__Finn fucks there, keeps going, wrapping himself around Poe until the last precipice crumbles and he bites Poe's tongue as he shoots, and shoots, coming so deep he can feel his _toes_ emptying, feels everything leaving him._ _

__Fragrant oil spreads in a fast-moving puddle; a fistfight breaks out, and then a shoving match. Flames catch and build, outside of Finn now, across the chamber. A siren wails. It's dark and smoky; Finn is hollow._ _

__"Finn," Poe says, urgent and low. "Finn. You with me?"_ _

__"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." It's all Finn can say, ahead of _feeling_ sorry. But he knows he will. He'll feel so fucking sorry, he might as well start apologizing now._ _

__"Later," Poe says. When Finn closes his eyes, Poe slaps Finn's cheek. "Be with me now. Wake up."_ _

__The pain slices through his consciousness. The orgasm cleared most of his confusion and helplessness, but the slap removes the rest. Finn works his jaw and says, "What?"_ _

__"Now's our chance."_ _

__He can't be serious. Finn looks around. The emergency lights are on, so it's even darker than it had been. Crew are arguing or scrambling for an exit or both. A fire builds taller in the corner; Pinky howls as he pats out the flames on his trouser leg._ _

__"We're getting out," Poe says, pulling Finn to his feet, then ducking low. Someone tries to block their way back down the passage to the cell, but someone else shoves that one aside in his rush for the main ladder._ _

__A shout does go up: "Getting away!"_ _

__They're naked and barefoot and running flat out, past their cell, hanging left toward the mid deck, still holding hands._ _

__Finn flattens himself against the bulkhead and waves Poe on up the half-stair to the shuttle deck. Three pirates barrel down the passage, shouting. Finn catches the first, throwing him back into his fellows. As they sprawl, he stomps on a few limbs and kicks what heads he can reach. Anything to keep them down just a little longer._ _

__He hears Poe's whistle and jumps for the half-stair. He's flushed with exhilaration but also clammy with sweat; his feet stick to the floor and leave little half moons as he runs, following Poe's own tracks._ _

__The scout shuttle is tiny and unarmed. That much Finn notes before diving inside headfirst. Poe's in the pilot's seat, the only seat in this thing, hollering exultantly._ _

__Finn doesn't, at first, understand what he's saying. He curls on his side, bare skin sticky and cold to the touch. The fire that ate his willpower and overwhelmed his ethics is doused, but nothing returns in its place._ _

__He really is empty, hollow and useless._ _

__*_ _

__Poe gets them clear of the scow before the salvage tanks he vandalized are caught in the fire and half the starboard side blows out. He punches in the codes for rescue on all channels, hoping something will hit. They float silent for a while; Poe wraps one of the emergency foil blankets around Finn and kisses his temple._ _

__A Resistance scout and Cal-Corp freighter pick them up._ _

__"Need bacta baths and change of clothes on arrival," Poe tells them. "Not in that order."_ _

__Poe's burn and some frostbite on his toes are the worst of their injuries._ _

__When he's conscious again, Finn is polite and blank, and it's frustrating enough to make Poe want to put his fist through something._ _

__*_ _

__Finn doesn't take the leave Leia offers him. Where would he go? What would he do?_ _

__"Come to Yavin," Poe tells him as they leave med-bay with clean checkups for them both. He's been ordered onto leave, no backtalk, no options. He'd be unhappier about this fact if he weren't headed home. "Easy."_ _

__Poe leaves on a freight hauler later that day, but Finn stays with the Resistance. There's work to be done, intelligence to be analyzed, matériel to be acquired and inventoried, even a few ground-level scouting missions to be run. Rose keeps him busy in the armory._ _

__He drops a load of blaster bolts and cracks them all. He keeps turning to the right, expecting to see Poe beside him; he thinks he hears Poe's voice and then hates his hopeful heart for thinking so. He misses obvious red flags in two separate incident reports and loses a reel of intel footage._ _

__He runs a training simulation with Rey until she shuts it down._ _

__"What?" He wipes the sweat from his face. She's glowering at him, arms crossed and brows drawn together. He tries for a joke. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"_ _

__She doesn't bother to acknowledge that. "You should go rest."_ _

__"I slept already," he says. "On the shuttle."_ _

__Rey rolls her eyes and shoves him back. He doesn't fall, but it's a close thing. "There's something wrong with you."_ _

__"Tell me something I don't know." He wishes he had fallen. Getting up would be something to do._ _

__"You need—" She shakes her head. "You're all cracked and jumbled up."_ _

__"Yeah," he says. "Probably."_ _

__"So you need to get fixed," she says with that quiet logic she always carries with her._ _

__He gets hot then, in an instant, and his eyes burn as his throat closes. Rey peers at him, then reaches out with a shaky hand to pat his shoulder. He thinks of Poe cupping his face, sees in her gentle expression Poe's urgent kindness._ _

__"Go," Rey tells him. "We need you better, not like this."_ _

__When she hugs him, he rocks back and forth and she's as strong as a tree and moves with him._ _

__"Better," she adds, "For you. Not just for the war."_ _

__"Okay."_ _

__"Even Dameron took leave, and Kaydel said he's been off maybe a day since he joined up."_ _

__"The general made him," Finn says._ _

__"I want you whole."_ _

__"Okay," he says again. "I'll go."_ _

__"Yes," Rey tells him, holding him close. "You will."_ _

__He can't do this without Poe. He doesn't know what "this" is, not even remotely, but he's certain that he needs to see Poe. He doesn't know what will happen, what he might say or do. These gaps make him itch and shift. He despises knowing a goal without being able to see how to _get_ there._ _

__He can't ignore the fact that in this, like so much else, he doesn't have much say in the matter. He just has to move toward the goal, even if it's in the dark and he's an ignoramus._ _

__*_ _

__Finn gets a ride with the sleek and fast Cal-Corp ship, so although it's been days since he saw Poe, they arrive on Yavin within hours of each other._ _

__As soon as he steps out of the small port facility, the heat closes around him in a humid embrace. Finn understands at last why Poe is always complaining of the cold, even in the mildest weather. Finn grew up in underheated troop transports and on Starkiller; nothing will ever be that cold. But Poe is tropical._ _

__"It's raining," Poe says by way of greeting._ _

__The rain doesn't fall with any speed; it appears out of the air and drifts around._ _

__"It's _green_ ," Finn replies._ _

__Poe grins and lifts his face to the sky. He has shaved, but the stubble is already returning. His hair is still long. "It's _paradise_."_ _

__Finn laughs, but apparently that was not a joke._ _

__They forego a speeder out to Poe's place. Finn wants to walk, wants to breathe hard and sweat out the anxiety crackling through him. Poe doesn't object; if he could, he'd probably walk every meter of this moon and love each and every moment._ _

__At the house, low and blurred in the rain, Poe brings Finn to the sleeping loft._ _

__The floor is littered with battered metal pans and clay bowls to catch the drips from the ceiling. If you lay very quietly, you could probably hear their tiny splashes along with the bigger, constant music of the shower outside._ _

__"Sorry again about the rain," Poe says. He scrubs one hand through his hair, leaving it stuck up in about forty directions. "It's a really nice place otherwise."_ _

__"It's nice, period," Finn says. He looks around the room. "Thanks for this."_ _

__"Yeah, yeah, anything." Poe hovers by the ladder. "You, uh. Want to wash up? Lie down? I can get out of your way —"_ _

__"No." Finn sinks onto the edge of the sleeping platform and starts to unlace his boots._ _

__"Oh. Oh, okay." But Poe doesn't move from his perch._ _

__"Stay?" Finn asks, the question a sharp change from the curtness he just used. He looks back down at his boots. "Or not, I just—. I'd like it. If you stayed."_ _

__"I'd like that!" Poe says, entirely too loudly. He only kicks over one bowl in his haste on his way to the platform._ _

__"Should we get a mop for that?" Finn asks._ _

__"Nah, it's fine. Everything's wet, that's just how it is." Poe knocks a loose fist on the stucco wall. "This place is mostly vines and moss and fungi, believe me."_ _

__Finn smiles a little at that, then ducks his head. "Like a hothouse."_ _

__"Open air, though," Poe reminds him. "So more like a...hot?"_ _

__Sometimes it's easy. Between them, around them, sometimes it's easy and the words come without much effort and they can knock into each other and laugh and even be quiet for stretches that are not mined with jagged pain and shards of memory._ _

__"Boys?" Poe's father calls from the bottom of the ladder. "Getting settled all right up there?"_ _

__"It's leaking!" Poe yells back. "Leaking everywhere!"_ _

__"It'll do that," his father responds. "Hazards of the rainy season, don't you know."_ _

__"It's great," Finn calls. "Thank you, sir."_ _

__"Dinner's on," Dameron tells them. "Don't bother dressing or anything."_ _

__*_ _

__The first day, Finn sleeps. Poe tries to sleep in the loft, too, fully clothed and restless. When they do speak, Finn is taciturn and hesitant. Maybe this is just like being back in the cell, just damper._ _

__The next day, they hike out to the temples._ _

__Finn is more talkative, but that's mostly due to asking lots of questions about botany and birds and archaeology._ _

__After lunch, Poe says, "I missed you."_ _

__"What's that supposed to mean?"_ _

__Poe's eyes widen. "It means I missed you."_ _

__"I'm right here," Finn says._ _

__"Yeah," Poe says, "True."_ _

__Farther up the trail, Poe can't help but talk again._ _

__"We're okay," Poe tells Finn._ _

__"All right," Finn says._ _

__"We _are_."_ _

__"Okay."_ _

__Despite trying not to, Poe sighs heavily and shakes his head. "I think we are."_ _

__"Got it." Finn nods and makes a move toward passing Poe on the path, but Poe stops him with a hand to his chest._ _

__"What do you think?"_ _

__Finn shrugs and switches his walking stick to his other hand. "I don't know. Do I have to know?"_ _

__"No," Poe says gently. "Of course not." All the same, his stomach feels like it's plummeting out of atmo toward a sea of ice. He summons a grin and steps aside so Finn can pass. "You don't have to do anything."_ _

__Finn snorts. "That's a nice change." He moves on up the trail, easily navigating the steepness and all the exposed roots as well as the mud._ _

__Cursing himself, Poe watches him go. What the fuck kind of phrasing was that? He needs to be a lot more careful, far more respectful, he knows that. As he follows much more slowly, keeping his gaze level on the sweat stain on Finn's lower back, plastering his jersey to his skin, suggesting the fullness of his ass within his trousers, Poe realizes that he is the last person in the world who should be trusted with this._ _

__Then again, neither of them had much choice in anything._ _

__"I get it, I think," he tells Finn when they reach the top of the mountain. The oldest temple occupies the ravine below them. Though mostly destroyed, it looks, in the silvery curtains of rain and amid the buxom green of the forest, like a pale bird that has alighted briefly. It could take flight again at any moment._ _

__"What's that?" Finn asks._ _

__Poe pulls himself up into the branches of a blueflower tree. The husks of its fallen fruit, still drooping from the branches, rattle against each other. "That feeling. No choice, just compulsion, that."_ _

__"Oh," Finn says. He's leaning on his walking stick, looking out over the ravine. "Maybe that's just the way it is, I don't know."_ _

__The husk of a blueflower fruit is already in his hand, so Poe throws it at Finn. "No."_ _

__"Watch it!" Finn rubs the back of his neck and glares up into the branches._ _

__"That's not the way it is, that's fucking stupid," Poe says, picking two more husks and tossing them in turn. "You're not stupid."_ _

__"No, I'm worse."_ _

__"Finn!" Poe shouts loudly enough that the word echoes down the ravine. A few red birds explode from the trees in protest. Finn keeps glaring up at him, so Poe slides down the branch and says way more gently, "Work with me? Please?"_ _

__"What do you need?"_ _

___You_ , he wants to say. Poe swipes the sweat out of his eyes and sighs. "Just...I don't know. Forget it."_ _

__"No, I'm asking," Finn says, as he lifts himself into the tree. He climbs awkwardly, with the care of someone who's never done this before, but also the confidence of someone who usually succeeds at whatever he tries physically._ _

__"Feel like we're trying to take on big questions," Poe says, completely unsure of where he's going with this thought, "About life and ethics and how the world ought to be. Rather than, I dunno. Talking _to_ each other. Who knows how 'it' is? Or what? But we do know each other."_ _

__"Do we?"_ _

__He stops breathing for a second. "You're not really asking me that."_ _

__Finn shakes his head. He should change the subject, or stick to his assertion, pretend he doesn't know Poe. He can't, however. He's not a good liar. "No, sorry."_ _

__"Phew!" Poe honestly looks surprised and relieved, and the fervor of his relief twists up something in Finn's chest. He tries to cover it by pulling himself up onto a higher branch, closer to Poe's eye level._ _

__"I'm sorry," he says. "I need you to know that."_ _

__Poe nods, then flicks the hair from his eyes. "We were both there."_ _

__"But only one of us had a choice in the matter."_ _

__"Yeah," Poe says. "And I wouldn't choose different."_ _

__Finn takes that in. He doesn't want to; it would be easier to reject everything, turn and flee and never look back. He smiles tightly when he evaluates _how_ he'd do and has to conclude that Poe knows Yavin infinitely better than Finn. He would find Finn. He would look and look and keep looking._ _

__"What's so funny?" Poe asks._ _

__"Nothing," Finn says. "Well. You. But it's nothing."_ _

__"Insulting!"_ _

__Finn rocks forward on the branch, legs dangling. He could be swimming. It's humid enough. "Nah," he says. "Just a bad joke."_ _

__"Bad jokes are _my_ territory," Poe says. _ _

__"So what's mine?"_ _

__"Brilliance," Poe says immediately. "Kindness."_ _

__Finn tosses a husk at him but misses widely._ _

__"And shitty aim," Poe concludes. " _Remarkably_ shitty."_ _

__*_ _

__At dinner the next night, Kes Dameron asks Finn what he wants to do, Poe puts in, "We're going to the river in the morning."_ _

__Finn looks puzzled. "News to me."_ _

__"You'll love it," Poe tells him. "Trust me."_ _

__Kes sighs. "Can't swim in the river."_ _

__Poe's spoon clatters off his plate and onto the floor when Poe drops it. "What? Since when? Is this about that brain slime thing?"_ _

__Kes replies, "Since the heavy metals got into the tributary four seasons back."_ _

__"The brain slime was a _joke_!" Poe says, then catches up to what his father said. Finn admires how well Kes manages to steer a relatively straight course through the chaos of a conversation with Poe. "Oh, shit, I forgot about that. That's still not cleaned up?"_ _

__"Not much in the way of resources around here lately, you know that," Kes says matter of factly. "Collective did what it could, but there's no way we were prepared for all the damage."_ _

__"How much spilled?" Finn asks._ _

__"Dumped, it was dumped," Kes tells him. His emphasis on the right word, with all its ethical implications, is so much like Poe's that Finn blinks several times. "About twelve hectolitres, give or take." Finn winces at that and Kes nods. "Exactly."_ _

__"What about the caves out by Chafou?" Poe asks._ _

__"They're nowhere near the river."_ _

__"No, for swimming. Can we go there?"_ _

__"Sure, if you don't mind another hike," Kes says. "Or you could just mosey on over to the pool."_ _

__Poe blows a big, wet noise in response to that. Kes says to Finn, "Kiddo hates the chemicals in the water. And the diving boards."_ _

__"I can dive fine!"_ _

__"He cracked his head on the highest one when he was nine," Kes continues. "Showing off. Never went back."_ _

__"It's unnatural," Poe says, "Swimming around a big duracrete circle like some old-fashioned aqua-circus. No, thanks."_ _

__The conversation moves forward as Kes opens two new steam-bowls and ladles up more spicy stews. He passes around soft, fresh flat bread and tells Poe that someone named Diku still bakes it. That leads, so far as Finn can tell, to a long exchange about how Diku was very good for Kes, in Poe's opinion, but that, according to Kes, they never could have worked longterm._ _

__Finn doesn't feel excluded, not quite, as he listens to their talk race and chortle and double back. If he asks, they're all too happy to pause and explain a reference. Finn lets the sound of their voices move over him as he eats and eats (much to Kes's delighted approval and Poe's protest of "I eat!"; "It's not a competition, Poe," Kes replies). He finds that he rather enjoys not knowing exactly what's being discussed. There's no pressure for him to know anything, no expectation, from himself or anyone else, that he use the information being communicated._ _

__He can simply listen, and stuff his face, and all the while his thoughts unwind and branch and spread wide._ _

__When the bowls are scraped clean and Poe is lying down on the floor, groaning as he rubs his stomach, Finn gets up to help Kes clear the table. Only a few days here, but it's already become routine._ _

__"You don't have to, it's nothing," Kes says, but Finn piles dishes and bowls into his arms and follows Kes through the clicking bead curtain to the kitchen._ _

__"You know, on Starkiller —" Finn stops, shakes his head, and starts again. "I have some experience with toxic cleanup. If you needed another set of eyes, maybe?"_ _

__Kes takes the dishes from him and sets them down in the basin. "You sure about that?"_ _

__"I wouldn't offer if I weren't," Finn says. He doesn't know why Kes would question his sincerity, but the fact that he used to be a trooper probably tops the list._ _

__"It's just...Poe said he didn't know long you could stay, I don't want you to commit if you don't have to, all sorts of things." Kes leans against the counter and strokes the tangle of his beard. "Don't want Poe accusing me of snatching his best man."_ _

__"Best man," Finn repeats._ _

__"Operationally, strategically speaking," Kes says, but then he winks. Startled and not a little intimidated, Finn swallows and wraps his arms around himself. "And who knows what else. The kid's heart is a big, big place."_ _

__Finn nods. It is the truth, after all, even though he has less than no idea what to _do_ with that fact._ _

__"Well, my leave is open-ended," Finn says and for the first time, that fact isn't shameful. It's just a fact. "So I can stay, or not, as long as I might want. Or need to."_ _

__Kes hands him a small glass of bluefruit brandy. "I'll take you out, then. After your swim."_ _

__"Can't get in the way of Poe's swim," Finn says and Kes's grin is his son's, down to the lines radiating from his eyes._ _

__*_ _

__That night in the loft, Finn rolls toward Poe in his sleep. He freezes, and Poe, who is awake and reading a trashy holo-tale, freezes, too._ _

__Finn mumbles and shifts but does not pull away._ _

__Poe exhales._ _

__*_ _

__They reach the caves just as the afternoon showers intensify. There are few other swimmers in sight, but several crabbing skiffs out in the marshes._ _

__"Up there," Poe says, pointing to a plateau a few steps above the caves entrance, "There used to be an arcade and snack bar. I was high scorer on the A-Wing holo-game for six years running."_ _

__"What happened then?"_ _

__Poe scowls a little, then hurries ahead up the path. "Some of us had to go to the Academy and couldn't hang around home maintaining our deserved and _legitimately earned_ legendary status."_ _

__"Nipped by an up and comer, then?"_ _

__"Shut up," he says without any heat. "Anyway, now there's just a hostel up there. We can crash there tonight if we need to." He stops at the low rope gate and turns around. "If you want to, I mean."_ _

__They're both being so careful, or trying, at least. Finn nods. "Let's see how it goes."_ _

__Once inside, the space opens up laterally, four large natural pools glittering far back into the relative darkness. Small lights are strung along the rock walls, but they contribute more to atmosphere than actual illumination. Everything smells close and _vital_ , a little sour._ _

__There are no changing rooms, just nooks in the walls for the shy._ _

__Poe strips off at the edge of the first pool, so Finn does, too. He lowers himself into the water, which is warmer than he'd expected but still colder than the rain outside. Its faintly sulfurous fragrance doesn't bother him, though there's a kid walking the perimeter renting nose-clips for the sensitive._ _

__"I love it, actually," Poe announces when he surfaces. His hair's slicked down to his skull, making his eyes and nose seem even larger than usual. "It smells like _water_ should."_ _

__Finn's coming to understand that just about every principle and value Poe holds dear stems from something here on Yavin, from collective government to the smell of water. "Water's usually scentless, isn't it?"_ _

__Poe splashes Finn for that, then dives deep and makes for the second pool. He can hold his breath for much longer than he once could, something he hadn't realized. All that time in low-O 2 cockpits seems to have paid off._ _

__The bottom of the next pool is much rougher than the first, so Poe bobs up at its entrance to wait for Finn and warn him. Finn's stroke is strong and sure, but he's moving slowly. He passes Poe and keeps going._ _

__"Hey!" Poe races after him, only for Finn to stop short and tread water in the center of the pool._ _

__His lashes are sparkling with water; the twists in his hair are, too. They look like flowers in the morning dew._ _

__"Hey, what?" Finn asks, moving a little ways back._ _

__"Forget it," Poe says. He's exhilarated, floating here, like there's nothing in the world outside to worry about. Nothing to even cross his mind. He turns onto his back and kicks toward the third pool. Above him, the cave vaults sharply, the jagged teeth ridged and rowed like wet-grain fields before harvest._ _

__Finn floats beside him. Rivulets streak his chest as they run down his ribs. He kicks once, colliding into Poe, and takes his hand._ _

__They stay like that, even as a crèche cohort arrives with high-pitched shouts and slapping feet. Eventually, they drift into the side of the pool, bumping gently against the rock._ _

__*_ _

__The hostel above the caves is more bare bones than a barracks. The roof is woven leaves, the walls to the cubicles salvaged skiff parts, the beds mere straw mats._ _

__Poe is exhausted; Finn is, too. They're loose, their muscles elastic and twanging, and their thoughts are distant and ill-formed._ _

__"No empty bag?" Finn asks as Poe digs in his sack and hands over a roti._ _

__Poe snorts. "We know we can take care of ourselves."_ _

__The food is delicious, but they're so tired and loopy that _porg_ would probably taste good right now._ _

__Finn lies down, intending to mimic Poe's post-prandial theatrics, but then he can't get up. Poe lies next to him, on the opposite side from where he floated, and they sleep._ _

__Drifting is a real thing, Finn thinks when he comes to. Sleep or water, it's the same sensation. He sleeps some more._ _

__The rain sings down around them. The afternoon light strengthens, then dims._ _

__When it's evening, Poe wakes hungry and sore. Finn is already awake, scowling in thought._ _

__"What?" Poe asks, afraid, but without any object for that fear. "Finn?"_ _

__Finn shakes his head, but his expression doesn't clear._ _

__"What's wrong?"_ _

__"You said we're good or bad according to our actions."_ _

__Poe has to sit up, clear his head, try like hell to catch up. "I did?"_ _

__"Back on—. Back there." He has to be clear. He has to _name_ what he's thinking. "In the cell."_ _

__"Okay," Poe says, nodding. "Maybe I did."_ _

__"It's what we do, huh?" Finn turns on his stomach and folds his arms for a pillow. "That's what you said. We're measured by our actions."_ _

__Poe takes some time to reply. When Finn says it, it sounds good. Smart and thoughtful, not at all like something Poe would say. "Yeah. Yeah, I really believe that."_ _

__"Then look at what I did. What I did to you. Really look." Maybe he wants Poe to take some of the blame. Maybe that's what he's after._ _

__"I have," Poe tells him. "Believe me. I—" He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. "Can't think about much else."_ _

__When Finn speaks, the anger curdling his voice is strong enough to make Poe's stomach turn. "You think that's what a good person does?"_ _

__Poe turns to look at Finn; he expects that Finn will have his chin planted on his arms and his gaze locked ahead. Like he got back in the cell, still and cold and absent._ _

__Instead, his face is turned toward Poe and he blinks slowly when Poe meets his eyes. Finn's eyes are so dark but _full_ , depthless._ _

__"Yes," Poe says. "I think being horrified and trying to prevent me coming to harm is exactly what a good person does. Same as rescuing a broken old man from the First Order, same as taking on Kylo Ren with a fucking _lightsaber_ , same as going to Canto Bight."_ _

__Finn's lips part but he doesn't say anything._ _

__"I think you're a good person," Poe says. "I always have. I do now. More, even."_ _

__Finn doesn't say anything. But he listens, which is more than, in the past, he would have thought he could do. Poe will take what blame he can, but he'll also try to carry Finn out of the way of blame altogether. Trusting that he deserves such an action is something Finn cannot imagine._ _

__"You always come back," Poe continues. "You talked about freaking out and running away, but you left out the important part. You come back. You come back for your friends."_ _

__He can't imagine trust, Finn finds, but here he is, trusting anyway, and fully._ _

__"You're not my friend," Finn says. The words weigh a lot and taste strange on his tongue._ _

__Poe's expression contorts, then collapses._ _

__"You are! But I want you to be more. I don't want to be careful around you," Finn says in a rush. He grimaces and shudders, then adds, more slowly, "I mean. I want to care for you. I care about you. But I don't —. I hate this cautiousness. Limping around each other."_ _

__"We're banged up," Poe says. "We'll get better."_ _

__"You're pretty confident about that."_ _

__"I want to care for you, too," Poe says, and Finn wants to point out that he just missed a prime opportunity to joke. "I mean."_ _

__"Yeah," Finn says, because he agrees, even though he doesn't know what Poe was going to say. "Me, too."_ _

__On his side now, Poe reaches to touch Finn's shoulder. Little cold bumps run over Finn's skin, then vanish under Poe's palm. Finn shifts onto his side and mirrors Poe's touch. His fingers walk up Poe's arm, then his neck, into his hair. His hair is damp, his scalp hot, his skull rounded to fit Finn's hand._ _

__"I'm sorry," Poe says._ _

__For a second, all Finn can do is laugh. It seizes him, shakes him apart, but when he stops, Poe is still regarding him calmly. "That's what I was going to say."_ _

__Poe's smile curls and widens. "Nothing to apologize for. Except maybe for—" He cranes forward and kisses Finn gently. "Not doing that."_ _

__Finn cups the side of Poe's neck. "Oh, yeah?"_ _

__"My fault," Poe says. "I was a little distracted. Forgot to tell you about how makeouts figure into the ideal time with you."_ _

__"Makeouts."_ _

__"Endless makeouts," Poe replies._ _

__"Ah." Finn ducks his head and rests his forehead against Poe's shoulder for a moment. When he looks up, his eyes shine. "Let's get going, then."_ _


End file.
